


In Between the Moments

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene of Arthur and Kiku in the morning, a fic exploring their feelings and love and comfort. Something simple and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between the Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from Tumblr. Just a short fluff piece

It was between the moments of awake and asleep that he realized he was already living his dreams.

A part of his mind laughed at him as it always did, pointing a cruel finger, using the sing-songy voice of playground bullies. _‘Living your dreams’? How much more cliché can you get? Do you honestly believe this is all there is?_ He blinked awake, adjusting his vision, examined the sleeping face across from him. With a wise voice he spoke slowly: _Yes,_ he answered, _maybe it is._

Or maybe it wasn’t. Arthur was entirely too comfy and it was entirely too early to begin thinking about what meant the world in the universe, what meant everything or nothing. It was only seven A.M. Philosophy could wait. For now, he took in a deep breath, let it fill him to the brim, breathed it out slowly. He partially ached for a cigarette, but when he realized getting up to get his pack required him to jostle the bed he decided he could do without it. His love sleeping next to him was much too pretty and precious to him, and so he stayed as he was, soaked in the atmosphere, the moment.

What he liked most about being ‘married’ were the moments when he was alone but not really alone. Arthur was a thorny, lonely person, and so there was a part of him that had gotten used to it, gotten comfy with the idea of solitude. Simultaneously, there was another part that desperately wanted company; that was too human and needed companionship. He was a mismatch, patch of a man that required a lot of care and patience and he knew that. So looking at that person who could handle all of that, with the wonderful patience mixed beautifully with the unending care, he felt himself smile. A hundred years together taught them to understand and so they had reached a sort of rhythm. There are a million and one things Arthur loved about Kiku (and perhaps if you gave him another moment to think he could think of even another thousand things) but at this moment he loved the alone without the alone.

When he laid asleep next to him, readily available, but without the heavy presence. In the quiet moments when Arthur was left with his thoughts but able to ignore them when they got too big. It was the thought that he could bring him back whenever he wanted, the presence that comforted him, the idea that he was always within reach and that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Arthur closes his eyes. He wonders if the world has stopped, because it felt like time had stopped and that this could go on forever.

(He loved the idea of it.)

And he hears the birds chirping awake, and the world waking up, rising and yawning and stretching. He focuses on the feel of the sheets on him, the warmth, the feeling that he was sinking into some sort of nirvana. His sleeping clothes hold him just right, and in the back of his mind he realizes he has a meeting to go to in another hour or two. But he selfishly stuffs that in a closet and closes it shut with his shoulder, ignores it for a bit because the world can wait for him and he was planning to make it wait for quite a while.

He feels a hand slide up his side. Over the exposed skin where the shirt is raised and he smirks without opening his eyes.

“Morning, luv.”

Slowly opening his eyes, he sees the smile returned, and it’s that well-rested happiness on Kiku’s face that makes him realize it really is all worth it.

“Good morning.”

Without word (for they’ve gotten to a point that formalities aren’t needed anymore), Kiku scoots a little closer and Arthur pulls him in, and they lay there in the others warmth. It’s the morning-after morning glow and it’s a long while before they talk. It’s the phone ringing in the kitchen that breaks the silence and Kiku shifts in Arthur’s hold, but Arthur doesn’t let go.

“I should answer that.”

“Let it ring.” He whispers into his hair, placing kisses on the hairline. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm.” he mumbles back, settling back into him. “I had a strange dream.”

“Of what?”

Kiku pauses. Think for a bit. He shrugs.

“I’ve forgetten.” He laughs to himself, “I’ve gotten so old.”

“I think I see a grey hair.”

He startles up, eyes wide, more surprised than he means to be. “Huh?!”

Arthur grins the grin of a punk, and winks like a thief. “Just kidding.”

He’s rewarded with a light smack on the shoulder the likes of which that elicit a playful laugh from him. Kiku throws himself back to the bed mumbling something about his blood pressure, how Arthur should respect his elders, but Arthur knows it’s all harmless anyway. A shower of kisses on his forehead and face is enough for Kiku’s forgiveness and he is left smiling giddy despite himself.

The phone rings again. They ignore it.

“You have a meeting today, don’t you?” Kiku asks, taking Arthur’s hand in his own, intertwining the fingers, examining its details, “When do you have to leave?”

“I should skip.”

“Don’t.”

Arthur is sobered up from his love-drunk high and sometimes he wishes Kiku was the type to believe in romantic fairytales. He looks at their joined hands together as they lay side by side. A part of him wishes they could’ve had the chance at honeymoon. He wishes they were human.

(The dark thoughts are settling in, the things that ruffle his happiness and make his heart beat too fast.)

He kisses Kiku to forget, and Kiku closes his eyes and loses himself in it.

“I’ve got another hour, I think,” Arthur whispers on his husband’s lips, he kisses him again, continues when they part: “We’ve got time.”

He feels Kiku smile, but his eyes are still closed, “Time for what?”

He’s being coy, Arthur realizes, and he feels a thrill of something in his stomach. The butterflies are fluttering and he’s nervous but excited. He dares a hand under his lover’s shirt and his breathing’s shallower, quicker, eager. Opening his eyes he sees Kiku flushed, and Arthur wants to get closer and closer and closer.

The phone rings again.

He groans despite himself, tries to ignore it as he kisses Kiku’s pale neck, goes lower and lower as his hands explore skin he’s already searched before. (But it never gets old and even when it does he always comes back for more). But it rings again, and even his instinct is telling him to go. So in a melodramatic fashion he gets up, extracts himself from the warmth and for some reason the air is colder as he walks towards the kitchen. The tile is freezing on his bare feet, and the sun is too bright, and in only three seconds he’s already missing Kiku’s warmth.

When he answers the phone he’s greeted with a professional voice and they work through the usual formalities. He’s needed in the office now. Now? Yes, something came up, it’s not too bad, just a change of plans. Right this instance? The meeting will start in another half hour, so it’d be best to come now, we’re sorry. No, it’s fine, he says and Arthur remembers his place and his body settles into the motions. It’s trained itself to work when it needs to, such an efficient, obedient thing. And so Arthur agrees and says he’ll be there in a second.

He hangs up and he doesn’t want to look behind him. His mind is beginning to daydream a human life, but he ignores it. It’s just how things are.

When he returns to the bedroom, he has a clipped walk, and he carries himself all business and Kiku watches with confused eyes.

“Did something happen?”

“I have to go in earlier than I thought.” Arthur tells him, pulling clothes out of his closet, “Sorry.”

The sorry is tacked on, but that doesn’t mean it’s half-hearted. And Kiku understands everything because they’re not that much different and so he tells him quietly it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. They’re not too depressed though; just sorry they can’t have more in that moment. It’s the honest sadness of a child told they can’t have what they want. It’s the momentary sadness that lets you know the world is unfair.

And so Kiku lies back on the bed and watches with listless eyes as Arthur gets dressed, and they share a comfortable silence that didn’t need words, only unspoken thoughts. There’s the morning silence save for the shuffling of clothes, of the tightening of a tie, and Kiku closes his eyes. He focuses on these last few sounds, on the feel of the sheets, on the faint scent of Arthur still on the bed.

(The world felt so much vivid with him near, it was strange.)

There’s something stirring in his heart, and it’s what causes Arthur to suddenly feel a hand tugging on the back of his shirt. It’s helped with another hand, and he’s pulled back again; he stumbles into their warm cocoon and finds himself in Kiku’s arms. Before he can say anything his mouth is silenced by Kiku’s kiss and his widened eyes don’t close. When Kiku pulls back he’s all blushing and shame.

“Don’t go.” He whispers from above. It’s unlike him, he knows, but love had already infected him long ago.

“You know I have to.”

“Stay a little longer.”

He doesn’t fight back because it’s exactly what he wants. In a few short seconds, the tie he had just put on is on the bedroom floor, and they forget for just a little longer.

(In between the moments of need and responsibility they are satisfied and content.)


End file.
